Only Part
by Hobsonphile
Summary: Image problems, low blows, bad behavior, some ill will, and the frustrations of two friends trying to communicate across a chasm- because after Scott's parting shot, I couldn't wait for "Chapter 60." Post-"Chapter 59."


Only Part  
by Steph  
  
Codes: Scott and Steven, Guber Angst  
Rating: PG- nothing overly objectionable, just mild curses here and there and a h*ll of a row.  
  
Summary: Image problems, low blows, bad behavior, some ill will, and the frustrations of two friends trying to communicate across a chasm- because after Scott's parting shot, I couldn't wait for "Chapter 60." Post-"Chapter 59."  
  
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters aren't mine, of course. The only thing I'm getting from this is the sick pleasure of watching these guys fight in my mind's eye. Next week may render timeline issues in this story ridiculous, but I can live with that.  
  
*****  
Only Part  
by Steph  
  
Steven heard it even before he stepped into the building. Over the whistle of the unseasonably polar wind, a strain of strident classical music shattered the peace of the early morning. The source of the music was a sure bet- as was the mood of its listener- and the very thought led Steven to release a sigh of world-weariness.  
  
Once inside, Steven unwrapped the scarf on his neck and pulled off his gloves, stuffing them into his pockets. Rubbing his hands together briskly to restore feeling in his frozen fingers, he walked towards the main office. There, the music was loud enough to vibrate through the floor beneath Steven's feet. It was with no small amount of trepidation that he approached the office of his second-in-command and opened the door.  
  
With the clamor, Steven's entrance never registered with Scott. For a long moment, Steven, uncertain how to begin the necessary discussion, watched Scott conduct with fascination. Steven recognized the piece as the one Scott conducted with the Pops a few years before. Then, Scott had led the orchestra with a mixture of grace and passion, his previous self-doubt ultimately forgotten. Now, however, Scott's knuckles were white, and the baton slashed through the air in furious jerks. Steven once again marveled at just how much fire crackled below Scott's surface- something that Steven was sure Scott would go to his death refusing to admit.   
  
When the music hit a quieter phase, Steven made his presence known by vigorously knocking his fist against the door. "Scott! A little loud!" he boomed over the din. Startling, Scott spun, catching Steven's eye, then rushed to shut off the stereo, dropping his baton on the desk.  
  
"My apologies."  
  
Scott sat down and began going through the papers on his desk, his mouth a thin line. If it was possible, the extended silence that followed Scott's terse acknowledgement was even louder than the Dvorak. Steven finally reached the end of his endurance.  
  
"Alright, you know what?" Scott eyed Steven as Steven aggressively pulled out a chair and took a seat. "I'm sick of this. Sick and d*mn tired of you giving me the silent treatment the past few days. So let's have it out now- let's put all our cards out on the table and move the h*ll on."  
  
Steven wasn't sure how exactly he expected Scott to react. But Scott's next words were an utter surprise.  
  
"Why don't you trust me?" The question was quiet, uttered with suppressed emotion and faint accusation.  
  
Steven shook his head, unsure if he had heard correctly.  
  
"Are you unsatisfied with the quality of my work?"   
  
"Scott..."  
  
"Or, do you think I'm somehow unstable- a loose cannon? You said as much a few days ago. Something about my always being angry and never being in control..."  
  
"Scott..."  
  
"Though how you can possibly believe that *Marla* is an appropriate counterbalance is a mystery to me..."  
  
"Scott, d*mn it, stop!" Scott closed his mouth and glared. "This is *not* about you. How many times do I have to say this before you'll understand. This is about *us*. Mr. Fields is right- we are spread too thin in this office. Please, just drop the paranoia for a second and think..." Scott stood, opened a cabinet drawer, and began roughly sorting through his files, studiously avoiding Steven's gaze. Steven's voice softened. "Scott, I love ya- I do. Please take what I'm about to say as something said in the spirit of friendship. I think you've taken on too much here." Scott paused and looked down at his hands. "The Gay-Straight Alliance, the Entrepreneur's Club, the Debate Team- you're here from six a.m. to ten at night some days. What I said the other day about your anger- I didn't mean that I thought you were unstable or untrustworthy. But I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't tell you that you've been *a lot* shorter with people these days, and *a lot* quicker to take things personally- it's like you never wind down. You think I don't notice how many times you ask Marcie for antacids in a day? I don't know if you're trying to atone for the riot or if you're trying to prove something else, but you have to *relax*."  
  
A long moment passed as Steven waited for Scott to respond. When no response was forthcoming, he continued. "I told Mr. Fields, as I've told anyone who's asked, that you are one of the best educators I've worked with. You're dedicated, you're thorough, you're..."  
  
"...a good disciplinarian," Scott spat bitterly. "I believe Mr. Fields said something to that effect."  
  
Steven was taken aback by his friend's tone. "Yes, he did. How did you..."  
  
Scott faced Steven once more, his jaw set. "The walls are not soundproof."  
  
"Mr. Fields certainly didn't intend that to be an insult."  
  
"And I suppose 'Napoleon complex' was a similarly well intentioned phrase?"  
  
"He also said that he liked you."  
  
The reminder fell on deaf ears. "That's all you see in me, isn't it? The disciplinarian. The enforcer. The one note tune."  
  
"That's not true."  
  
"Steven, a school is not supposed to be a democracy. Perhaps you have lost sight of that fact, but I have not. I warned you last year that our teachers needed guidance, but the *students* need it even more." Scott pounded his fist into his palm. "I have told you from day one that this business of student empowerment- increasing electives, reducing the core, relaxing on the discipline- is ill-conceived. We must find a way to be receptive to student needs without letting the inmates run the asylum. For God's sake, our closed-circuit television station has become a virtual soft-core pornography station because Danny Hanson won't *lead*."  
  
Steven bristled. "You think I don't encourage people to take charge here?"  
  
"I think you sometimes sacrifice order for popularity, yes."  
  
"Oh, this again." Steven stood and threw up his hands, thundering sarcastically, "Poor Scott Guber- the martyr for discipline and order! You know, Scott, it's not as if you've worked all that hard on improving your image. That riot? Your little speech about the importance of being feared? Let's just say they weren't exactly shining moments." Steven knew it was inappropriate the moment he said it, but Scott was equally over the line and it was too late to change course.  
  
Scott approached Steven until he was inches from the larger man's chest, his fists opening and closing. Steven winced slightly at the strength of the guilt, hurt, and anger that flashed in Scott's blue eyes, and wondered fleetingly if Scott would actually have the nerve to hit him. Steven felt like throttling Scott himself, and a small part of him wished Scott *would* take a swing at him, just for the satisfaction of hitting back.  
  
That opportunity didn't present itself, however- Steven could almost see Scott drawing the professional line in his mind. After a tense moment, Scott drew a sharp breath and looked down. When Scott spoke, his words were soft but intense. "I play those days over and over again in my mind every night, Steven. I am well aware of *every* mistake I've made. I don't need you to remind me."  
  
Steven sighed. "I know. I'm sorry."  
  
Scott met Steven's eyes, and Steven noticed a muscle fluttering in Scott's chin. "I've been teaching for over twenty years. My students succeed because I expect more from them. The disciplinarian is only *part* of who I am. I care just as much for the students at Winslow as you and everyone else here. But it has always been my firm belief that you cannot coddle students and be truly compassionate. I'm sorry you can't understand that. I'm sorry you can't understand me."  
  
Scott pushed past Steven and picked up his radio. He was almost out the door when Steven stopped him with his hand. "Scott, wait." Scott didn't turn, but he did stop. "I *know* you care. I see it everyday. And I *do* trust you, even if I think another body in the main office would be a help. But if you don't have confidence in your own abilities, Scott, then it does little good for me to tell you that I have faith in you. I don't know what the h*ll is going on in that mind of yours that makes you think I don't truly believe in you, but whatever it is, I need you to work it out. Soon. Because I need you as a cooperative member of my team."  
  
Scott gently pulled himself free of Steven's grasp and disappeared into the hallway. Steven blew out a frustrated breath and slammed his hand against the door jam.  
  
The End.  
  
No happy resolutions with this one. Sorry. 


End file.
